Capture Every Minute
by JulietGivesUp
Summary: "One day you're changing their diapers, next thing you know they're all grown up and leaving for college..." It was only a matter of time, he supposed.


**Capture Every Minute**

"Shit! It's almost eight!"

There was an unmistakable sound of frantic moving and thumping feet from the room across the hall. Arthur blinked his eyes sluggishly casting sleepiness away. He sat up with difficulty, turning to the blinking numbers in the digital on his bedside cabinet.

'7:45 A.M.' it blinked.

He sat and gazed at the blinking numbers for a time before slowly rising, searching for his ancient house slippers. They seemed to be trapped under the bed as per usual. Arthur winced as he dropped down on the cold, wooden floor to search for them. He could've sworn his back creaked, bones so old and worn down. Putting the infernal slippers on, he continued creaking to the kitchen.

More rummaging and bumping heard, this time in the bathroom.

Arthur cracked a weary smile and inserted two pieces of bread into the toaster. He set out to remove the bacon and eggs from the refrigerator when Alfred came tearing in, ruffled and disheveled as any other fifteen year old boy.

Dirty, blond hair was messy as ever, a stray strand sticking up stubbornly in the front. His audacious, spectacled, _green_ eyes still crusted with sleeping dust. He wore a casual throw in jeans and graphic Captain America t-shirt. Arthur did not fail to notice the pimples developing on the teen's forehead.

Alfred strolled on over to the fridge and took out a jug of orange juice. Arthur watched horrified as the boy chugged it from the plastic container, some of the juice trickling down the corners of his mouth. Arthur quickly wiped it off with a napkin.

"That's disgusting," he mumbled disapprovingly. Alfred just chuckled catching the bread as it flew out the toaster, more or less burnt. He went to the pantry searching for something.

By then Arthur was hurriedly making breakfast, the eggs and bacon sizzling filling the room with its aroma.

"Have a seat, boy. This will only take a few minutes," Arthur commanded. He flipped the eggs speedily and turned the fire up hoping that it would shorten the cooking time.

"Can't." Alfred pulled out from the pantry finally finding what he was looking for. "I'm gonna be late for school."

Alfred squirted the spray on cheese onto his mouth. He took a large bite of toast and chugged down the rest of the orange juice.

Arthur just finished frying the bacon when Alfred was half way out the door putting his shoes on.

"Now wait just a second, young man! You didn't even eat!"

"I did."

"Well then, did you brush your teeth? For heaven's sakes Alfred! Is it _that_ bloody hard to comb your hair? Just look at it." Arthur ran his fingers through the boy's squirming head in an attempt to untangle some of the locks.

"Aw c'mon! I hafta go! I'mmana be late…"

"Quit fidgeting and you can't go to school with dust still encrusted on your eyes. Here, let me get th-"

"I got it, okay? Let me go already!"

Alfred pulled away from Arthur wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He quickly put on his shoes and searched for his backpack. Arthur was about to reach for it and hand the bag to him when Alfred snatched it away.

Backpack slung lazily on one shoulder, Alfred impatiently hugged the puzzled Brit and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"See ya later Dad!" he said waving goodbye with that absent-minded grin of his.

Arthur didn't know what to say.

Alfred's back was turned and headed out to the driveway. This had always been for many times. His cute, little Alfred would always take the same path, out the door, smiling with his schoolbag in hand and an evolving math book in the other, confidently waving goodbye to him.

Time after time, whether it was raining or the sun was shining, Arthur always watched his son walk out the front door, still not use to the idea of him leaving his comfort. It was a festering feeling that would always emerge when Alfred's back was turned, going off to somewhere _away_.

He wanted to say something back but he couldn't conceive of anything.

_God, he had to say something._

"Pull up your trousers this instant, Alfred Jones Kirkland! Sagging is completely ungentlemanly-like!" he involuntarily called after the boy. Arthur wondered if Alfred could even hear him. He stood waiting by the door observing Alfred's head getting smaller and smaller as he got farther and farther away.

After a moment, he could hear a faint response. "Yeah Dad."

Melancholy suddenly sweeps Arthur off his feet and he sat there alone processing everything like an old broken film. And then suddenly, every moment sped up into one measly second. It was all too fast.

Alfred just kept growing. It was unsettling to look back at the boy he once understood so well - that _needed_ him compared to the confident, inscrutable, young man Alfred was now.

* * *

"And with that, we conclude our graduation ceremony. Congratulations class of 2012!"

Thousands of black caps were thrown high into the air all at once.

Families surged to greet and congratulate their now high school graduated teens. An irrational mix of crying and cheering erupted in the large, decorated auditorium as parents shuffled to take pictures with their kids flaunting the hard-earned diplomas in their hands.

Arthur longed to keep this jubilant memory preserved in photograph as he weaved in and out of the crowd searching for his son. The boy seemed to have disappeared after the ceremony, nowhere to be found.

"Ah! Alfred, there you are boy! I've–!" Arthur clasped his hand on the boy's shoulder, suddenly withdrawing it.

"I-I'm terribly sorry but I'm afraid you've got the wrong guy. I'm not Alfred…"

"Is this some kind of joke?

"…"

"But you do look strikingly similar to him, you know…"

"Yes, um, I suppose."

"Yes, yes, indeed…" Arthur mused still scrutinizing the boy's face.

"If it would help you any sir, my name is _Matthew_. Matthew Williams. I'm also Alfred's friend."

_Matthew Williams_ smiled politely, stretching his hand out for a handshake.

"O-Of course! Sorry about that chap. I suppose the old noggin's getting a bit rusty these days. I'm Alfred's father, Arthur Kirkland," the Brit said shaking Matthew's hand apologetically. He noted the boy's light lavender eyes widen in astonishment.

"Something wrong?"

"Uh... no sir! It's just that…well, you weren't exactly what I pictured from Alfred's description. And – and you're so nice and kind and well, you just look so _young_… ah, I mean…"

Arthur cocked a large eyebrow uncertainly. He wondered what kind of absurd things Alfred had been saying about him in school.

Matthew was flushed red with embarrassment now. "Oh dear… I'm really sorry Mr. Kirkland."

"Yo Mattie! Where've you been dude? I've been looking all over for you! Kiku and Toris are waiting over there to take pictures, c'mon!"

Alfred butted in, in a timely manner, his right arm slung onto Matthew's shoulder and practically dragging him away from Arthur.

"Wait son!"

Continuing away, he looked back at his old man and grimaced.

Alfred mouthed the words 'go home.'

* * *

It was a big day for Alfred and even more for Arthur.

It was the anticipated day of Alfred's move to college.

Arthur woke up especially early that morning hoping for a chance to help him pack and maybe even strike a conversation.

To his disappointment, Alfred had already pretty much cleared his room; boxes and carts containing clothes, posters, and other knick-knacks were strewn on the floor.

Arthur solemnly picked up a box of Alfred's favorite comic books when the blonde seized it from him along with the two other boxes he was carrying. He was about to protest but Alfred was out of earshot by that time.

The boy marched back at the room, his eyes focused straightforward and movements mechanical-like.

"Let me help you. _Please_ Alfred, let me help. "

"Too slow. I just wanna get out of here - look, I know you're trying to stall me on purpose. _Just let me go, damn it Arthur!" _

Tears were threatening to fall by the time Alfred seized the last memento of childhood from his hands.

He could only watch helplessly, leaning on the front door as the son he raised so carefully stacked the last box and slammed the trunk close.

Alfred's eyes bore into Arthur's glistening green pair. They stood there for a moment, not saying a word, but exchanged an understood conversation.

Alfred looked like a complete stranger.

The most notable changes; his thick, wire-framed glasses that once held the emerald eyes he'd inherited from Arthur were swapped for bright, cerulean blue contact lenses. The color seemed to fit the boy more than it should have had as the newly acquired blue gazed at him coolly.

Alfred's acnes and pimples were wiped clean off his face. An attractive tan color enveloped his skin naturally. The boy's arms, which were once upon a time: skinny and slack, were transformed into toned, genuine muscles.

Even the vehicle behind him was new.

Before, he relied on his skateboard, bike, or Arthur to drive him to places.

Now, he was free to jump in and drive anywhere; fast food drive-thru's, high school, pick up Mattie and Kiku from their houses, and on this very occasion, _race away to college_.

Alfred seemed to be observing him too.

Arthur wondered what Alfred saw in him that changed.

The tears that were kept at bay for so long fell subconsciously down his numb expression that Arthur had not noticed if it were for his son wiping them away. His knees buckled and finally gave way.

Alfred held him close, having to lean a bit to level with Arthur's height. It was both awkward and funny that the man who he once looked up to was shorter than himself.

_Oh, puberty is cruel._

Arthur noticed this and chuckled, whilst the tears continued to tumble faster soaking Alfred's beloved jacket.

"Stop crying, Dad. You know I don't like it when you cry…" Alfred rested his chin on top of Arthur's head.

Alfred generously lingered there listening to his father sob on his shoulder.

It may been hours or perhaps only a few, measly minutes before Arthur recovered. The older man looked more or less like a drunk wreck, hiccupping a few times, and barely keeping a hazy standpoint.

Alfred carried his father back to the room right across from his former bedroom, tucked him under warm blankets (as it was only six o'clock in the morning), safely locked the door, and drove away starting his new, independent life.

* * *

**The end..?**


End file.
